She could not hide her face. Then she looked up at Brendon. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Where else could she go?’ ‘And there aren’t too many of them around,’ agreed Hilary on a gloomy note. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. After listening attentively for a short time without drawing breath, he became convinced that his apprehensions were groundless, and, greatly relieved, sat down upon the chair to rest himself and prepare for further efforts. "My enemy," replied her son. She shuddered, adding confidentially, ‘You wouldn’t get me in there now, mind. Just dreamed—and ran away even from my dreams. She closed her eyes more vividly to recall some line which had carried the blot. The boy was right. McClintock says they can't get in there, or at least they never try it. Austin could scarcely credit his senses when he beheld him.
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